Sweetly Contemporary Collection - Part 2 (Sweetly Contemporary Boxed Sets)

by Jennifer Blake

  Clare gave it to her, then apologized once more for being such a laggard guest. They exchanged a few more words; then Clare, with a final good-bye, dropped the receiver into its cradle. With a faint smile still curving her mouth, she turned away. Beverly was a grand person. It was sweet of her to be so concerned and interested. The interest was inevitable, it seemed. Logan had not gotten where he was without being able to arouse the interest of women. Not that he tried. After the time they had spent together, she actually believed the attraction was a natural, unconscious force. She had been aware of it at first; then, as the hours had passed, she had come to see Logan not as an actor but as a man. With faults, yes, but also with ideals and a deep vein of sensitivity. Regardless of what Beverly might think, even in spite of the reasons she had given her own conscience, it was for the man and what he believed in, rather than for the actor, that she was here in this hotel room at this moment.

  It came as no great surprise that the scene in the hotel lobby was repeated in the men’s store where they went to replenish Logan’s wardrobe. The sales clerk, a vision of sartorial splendor, seemed to think it was a specially conferred honor to be asked to help choose a shirt and tie to complement a dark blue suit. The combinations available appeared to be endless as the man snatched shirts from the shelves and folded ties artistically at their collars. He was only prevented from covering the counters with such ensembles by Logan, who held up a hand, pointed at a subdued yet distinctive set, and told the clerk to put it in a bag. If the price of the simple purchase made Clare blink, she was not alone. The crowd at their back, to judge from their whispers, were no more used to simple white tone-on-tone shirts and diagonal-stripe silk ties running to those figures than she was.

  Autographs, the minute Logan’s attention was free, were inevitable. With the ease of long practice, he managed to slash a few words and his signature on whatever was thrust at him, and keep moving at the same time. Clare, jostled and pushed by the growing crowd, saw herself being separated from him, until Logan reached out and caught her hand to draw it through the crook of his arm. He pressed it firmly against his side, and never stopped walking. Gamely smiling, ignoring the questions thrown at her, Clare was able to keep up with him as they passed through the swinging doors of the shop and out onto the street.

  They were nearly through the gauntlet. The car was before them. Logan handed back the last immortalized paper bag and reached for the car’s handle. At that moment there came a scream from across the street that sounded like his name. An automobile’s brakes squealed, a horn blared, and then, as they turned, a woman dashed toward them across two lanes of traffic and flung herself into Logan’s arms.

  “Logan, darling! The things I do to get to you. Aren’t you flattered?” She would have kissed him if he had not turned his head. As it was, her mouth brushed his cheek, leaving a smear of lip gloss.

  “Janine, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “No, I’m sure you didn’t. Wasn’t it clever of me to remember your passion for the mountains? You also mentioned skiing here at Aspen once or twice in my hearing. I have spent the past few days positively hounding the real-estate agents trying to discover whether you owned a condo or a house, without success. And then, just as I was about to give up and go meekly back to L.A., to the home and husband I deserted a week ago, I saw a man being trailed by a horde of women. Who else could it be, my darling Logan, except you?”

  “I see.”

  “Not an enthusiastic welcome, I must say, but I will overlook it if you will come to dinner with me this evening at the lodge where I’m staying.”

  “Sorry, but my fiancée and I have made other plans.”

  “Your fiancée!”

  “I haven’t introduced you, have I? Clare, darling, this is Janine Hobbs, the wife of the man you met this morning. Janine, Clare. And, yes, you did hear right — we saw Marvin this morning. It is your husband we are dining with this evening.”

  Clare acknowledged her introduction with a quiet word. If it had not been for the scathing glance directed at her by Janine Hobbs earlier, relegating her to the status of one of the women trailing Logan, she might have felt sorry for the other woman. It would have been wasted pity. One minute she was pale beneath the golden, beautifully even tan of her skin, and her carefully made-up green eyes were wide with shock. The next, her color had returned and she was smoothing at the fur of the coat she wore with long, manicured fingers.

  “Marvin is here?” the woman inquired, her tone nonchalant.

  “The way I understand it, he flew in this morning.”

  “And went straight to where you were? His method of finding you was better than mine, it seems. He has always been good at twisting arms. But what was the hurry?”

  Logan stared at her with narrowed eyes. “He seemed to think he might find you with me.”

  Janine shrugged. “I wonder where he could have gotten that idea.”

  “So do I,” Logan answered.

  “Oh, come, Logan, don’t be so stuffy,” Janine said, reaching out to touch his arm. “We both know very well what Marvin thought. I only wish it had been true. If it had not been for that terrible snowstorm—”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Logan interrupted.

  Clare, despite the fact that she had no real claim to consideration as a fiancée, was oddly grateful for the reminder of her presence. Janine Hobbs had not looked at her again after the brief startled glance when they had been introduced. Annoyance at the woman’s familiarity with Logan and deliberate bad manners to herself rose within her. One hand was still caught in the crook of Logan’s arm. Placing the other over it, Clare said, “I don’t like to interrupt your conversation, darling ... but shouldn’t we be going? We still have to dress for dinner, and we don’t want to keep Mr. Hobbs waiting. Besides, we seem to be gathering an audience.”

  The last was true enough. The spectators, talking excitedly, had gathered seven and eight deep in a circle around them and were beginning to spill out into the street.

  Logan sent a quick look around them. “Yes, I think you are right.”

  “Oh, what does it matter?” Janine exclaimed, fluffing her coat around her face, shaking back her fine, perfectly cut black hair. “Let them look.”

  Clare gave the other woman a pleasant smile. “There is always the possibility that one of the horde of women trying to get close to Logan will not be satisfied with looking. That kind of thing can get out of hand, you know, and I would just as soon he stayed in one piece. I don’t intend to share him with anyone.”

  Janine’s brow snapped together. “Are you suggesting I am one of the horde?”

  “I wonder where you could have gotten that idea?” Clare, repeating Janine’s mock-innocent phrase, could feel the tension in Logan’s arm. She knew he had turned to look down at her, but she refused to meet his gaze.

  Janine Hobbs looked from one to the other, anger hardening in her green eyes. “Don’t let me keep you, then,” she said. “I have an idea of the nature of your business with my husband, and how important it is to you.”

  There was an inflection in her voice Clare did not like, though Logan appeared not to hear it.

  “We would invite you to join us this evening,” he said, “but under the circumstances I doubt it would appeal to you.”

  Janine made no reply. The set of her face was cold, and her hands were clenched in the soft fur of her coat as she stood back so they could get into the car. As they drove away, she was still staring after them.

  The distance back to the hotel was not long. Clare, staring through the windshield, spoke at once. “I am sorry if I embarrassed you.”

  “Amazed me, is more like it.”

  “I ... it was nothing personal. I simply got tired of her pretending I didn’t exist.”

  “I think she noticed you,” he commented.

  The ghost of a smile flickered across Clare’s lips in response to his wry tone. “Do you think she will leave Aspen?”

 
“Somehow I doubt it,” he answered, his voice tight and a frown between his eyes as he stared straight ahead.

  Back in her room at the hotel, Clare ran a deep, hot bath and sprinkled a generous amount of rose-scented bath-oil beads into the water. She lay soaking in the silken luxury for a long time. At first she tried to hold her thoughts at bay, but they came crowding in. What had she let herself in for? She had been crazy to agree; the proof of it was her reluctance to explain her folly to Bev. She would make a fool of herself, be exposed as a fraud.

  Surely there was some way she could get out of it? She could leave the hotel, call Bev to come and get her. Logan did not know who she was or where she lived, not really. There would be no recriminations.

  There might also be no movie from Logan’s script, and she would be to blame. Could she live with the guilt?

  She must not think like that. She was making too much of what was no more than a dinner date. Nothing important would be decided. It would be a pleasant meal with a little business discussion over the coffee. When it was over, Logan would say good-bye and she would go on with her skiing vacation with a pleasant memory of an interesting encounter. What could be wrong with that? Nothing at all.

  Why, then, did she have this feeling that she was getting into something she could not control? Could it possibly be because of her impulsive act this afternoon in laying claim to Logan? She could not imagine what had possessed her to do such a thing. Antagonism toward the other woman was one answer, but it was not completely satisfactory. What was even more puzzling was Logan’s easy acceptance of her meddling, when she would have expected him to be furious. Perhaps he appreciated the reason for her interference and was glad of it? He had not said so, not in so many words, but neither had he objected. She would have to take that as a sign of encouragement, and go on as planned.

  Clare had not expected to be going out much in the evening. She had only one outfit with her even remotely suitable for the type of formal dinner she expected to be attending. It was a lightweight sweater and matching floor-length skirt in a silky, lacelike knit. The top had a round, scalloped neck and draped sleeves that fell to the elbow. The hem of the skirt was scalloped also. Of a soft, dusty rose color, it also had ribbon trim around the neck and sleeves.

  With so little choice, it did not take her long to dress. She had shampooed her hair in the tub and dried it with the hot-air drier she had brought with her in her suitcase. Now, to give herself a less casual look, she twisted the long blond length of it into a shining coil low on the nape of her neck and fastened it with gold-topped tortoiseshell pins. Simple hooped earrings and a flat serpentine chain of gold were her only jewelry. A little rose lip gel and a touch of mascara completed her makeup. By the time Logan came for her, she was not only ready but had been waiting for some time.

  They had arranged to meet Marvin Hobbs in the lobby. He came forward to greet them as they stepped out of the elevator. Whether it was because of the producer’s brusque manner, or the dispatch with which he led them into the dining room, they were not molested as they made their way to the corner table Hobbs had reserved for them.

  The maître d’ summoned a waiter and they ordered drinks. The opening amenities thus disposed of, the producer leaned back in his chair.

  “I must say you make an attractive couple ... remind me of Nordic royalty, with both of you so blond. Clare, you know you will make a lot of women jealous when this news gets out. For myself, I’m not sure it isn’t Logan who should be envied.”

  “What a lovely compliment. Thank you,” Clare replied.

  For no reason that she could think of, there was a husky note in her voice. She looked away, staring around her at the restaurant’s decor, the gingerbread ornamentation, the nineteenth-century wallpaper, and the intriguing collection of antiques mixed with luxuriant green plants that sat here and there. A pleasant buzz of conversation and tinkling china and glassware filled the air. Some few of the other diners were formally dressed, but the vast majority were in casual wear. Her gaze passed over and returned to a woman who stood in the doorway on the far side of the room. She wore a gown of shimmering silver mesh that glittered with her every movement, while a silver-fox cape hung from her shoulders. Her dark hair, partially covered by a small, close-fitting turban of the same mesh as her gown, gave her the look of a Parisian, except that no Frenchwoman would have dressed quite so obviously to attract attention.

  Confident that she had achieved her object, the woman spoke to the maître d’, who moved to greet her, then turned in their direction. Her red lips wearing a pouting smile, she started toward their table. It was Janine Hobbs.

  “Marvin, darling! How marvelous to see you. I am so glad you could get away. When I met Logan this afternoon and he told me you were here, I could not believe it. I never dreamed you would even think of joining me, or I would have let you know where I was staying.”

  The producer’s back had been to the door. The expression on his face was carefully controlled as he swung to face his wife, then got to his feet. “My dear Janine, this is an unexpected pleasure.”

  “Is it? You mean Logan didn’t tell you he had seen me? Perhaps I should not have accepted his invitation to dinner with you this evening, then?”

  The look on her face was puzzled and faintly hurt. Her words conveyed the impression that there had been something not quite aboveboard in her meeting with Logan, as if he had been meddling in the affairs of husband and wife for his own ends, or else there had been a mix-up due to the hurried and clandestine nature of the communication between the two.

  “Nonsense. Logan and Clare have only just arrived; we haven’t had time to talk.” Hobbs, his smile grim, held a chair for his wife. “I assume you have met Clare,” he went on when he regained his seat.

  Janine sent Clare a flickering smile. “Logan’s little friend? Oh, yes, I believe she was there this afternoon, though I did not quite catch the name.”

  The producer supplied it. “I suspect you had better memorize it, my dear. Though it seems to have slipped your notice, she is Logan’s fiancée. I don’t doubt we shall be hearing more of her in the future than we have in the past.”

  “His fiancée! Of course, I had forgotten,” Janine said, the frown that creased her brow serving to convey the impression despite her words, that this was the first she had heard of the matter.

  “Have you been enjoying your holiday?” Hobbs asked in polite tones, though the glance he sent from Logan to his wife was sharp.

  “Yes indeed. It has done me a world of good; I can’t begin to tell you. I know it was silly of me to pack and fly in such a dramatic fashion, but I really had to get away from all the terrible publicity. Why I let it bother me, knowing what all those magazines and newspapers are like, knowing it was all a stupid misunderstanding, I can’t say. I suppose I am just too sensitive.”

  The waiter brought their drinks then, creating a small diversion. As Hobbs ordered for Janine, Clare slanted a quick look at Logan. There was hard anger in his blue eyes. Tactics such as Janine was using were hard to combat, especially in the present circumstances. Watching the way Logan’s fingers tightened around his glass, Clare was not certain how long he would even try. If Janine persisted much longer with her coy smiles and insinuations, Clare was afraid he would explode. Was that what the producer’s wife wanted? Was she so certain of her husband’s affections and her control of the situation that she would risk anything Logan might say, confident that she could twist it to her own advantage? Would Marvin Hobbs believe his wife had been throwing herself at Logan, or would he prefer to believe the accusation was only Logan’s way of trying to get out of an entanglement he no longer wanted?

  “I don’t imagine you have been able to do much skiing?” Marvin Hobbs observed to the table at large.

  “No,” Logan answered.

  “Oh, no,” Janine said with a laugh. “You can have no idea of what the weather has been like, or you would not ask such a thing. If it is possible to get cabin fever fr
om being cooped up in a lodge, then that is what I have had. A few hardy souls were on the slopes this morning, but not I. Powder is fine, I love it, but such deep powder is nothing short of an invitation to disaster.”

  “Do you ski, Clare?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Clare replied with a polite smile for their host.

  “But that’s terrible!” Janine exclaimed. “What is the use of coming to Aspen if you don’t ski? Something must be done about it. I shall have to take you in hand. That way we will get to know each other better.”

  “I’m not sure we will be here long enough for that,” Logan said.

  “No? Such a pity. I could have given Clare quite a few pointers, not only on skiing, of course, but on a number of other things that will come in handy if she is to be one of our little group.” The woman paused long enough to give Clare a brittle smile. “Forgive my curiosity, Clare, but I can’t help wondering how you came to meet Logan, since you don’t ski, and you can’t be from L.A. or there would have been some mention of you in the gossip columns.”

  “We met,” Logan said as Clare hesitated, “when Clare requested an interview. She is a writer.”

  “A writer? How interesting. And who do you work for?”

  “I freelance, personality pieces, mainly,” Clare answered.

  “I see,” Janine murmured, though there was a puzzled look in her narrow green eyes. “I would like to read your article on Logan. Where did it appear, and when?”

  “It hasn’t,” Logan replied with a lazy smile. “I’m afraid we never got around to the interview, what with one thing and another.”

  “Pity,” Janine said, “but I suppose a ring is better than a story. Do you mind if I see yours, Clare? I’m sure, given Logan’s reputation for romanticism and generosity, that it is something spectacular.”

  “I haven’t bought a ring yet,” Logan said. “There hasn’t been that much time.”

  “You mean you haven’t been engaged long? But I understood you had known each other for some time. I do hope, my dear Logan, that all the furor recently didn’t force your hand?”